Another Hero
by rainysfeverdreams
Summary: On her death bed, Cordelia is granted one day to set things right. This is the events of "IWRY" and "Hero" through the eyes of S5 Cordelia.
1. Prelude

**Title:** Another Hero

 **Pairing:** Mostly Cordy/Doyle, but also some Cordy/Angel

 **Summary:** On her death bed, Cordelia is granted one day to set things right. (This is the events of "IWRY" and "Hero" through the eyes of season 5 Cordelia.)

 **A/N -** Happy 16th anniversary of _Angel's_ premiere (and our first introduction to Doyle)! I wrote this as a set up for a Doyle-centric retelling of season 1 and because it's in the POV of _You're Welcome_ -era Cordy, I felt like it should be its own standalone story. It will be relatively short (just a handful of chapters) and I will start posting **Another Hero: Season One** as soon as this ends.

* * *

 **"Prelude"**

Cordelia was dying.

Actually, she had been dying for quite a while. Ever since Jasmine had drained the life force from her body, Cordelia was nothing but an empty shell lying in a hospital bed, waiting for her physical body to give up its pointless fight. Her organs, however, were young and strong and not nearly as ready to let go as the rest of her. Thankfully, the astral body that was also Cordelia—the part that held her spirit and her soul—had finally been freed of the confines of her body.

An act of mercy from those above—she hadn't questioned her sudden ability to hover intangibly in Angel's office and watch as he and the Angel Investigations team dealt with the evil du jour. What was rather disappointing was the fact that his office was now contained inside the walls of Wolfram & Hart, making any attempt to fight evil seem rather ironic. It had become abundantly clear that Angel was not merely working for Wolfram & Hart, but was, in fact, in control of the home office. And, if that wasn't bad enough in and of itself, Connor had been completely erased from the picture—he wasn't there, and no one seemed to remember he had ever been there.

It was all _very_ disappointing.

"News flash—nobody in our camp trusts you anymore. Nobody. You work for Wolfram & Hart. Don't fool yourself... we're not on the same side."

She had heard Buffy's little errand boy, Andrew Wells, say those harsh but all-too-true words to Angel, and it had been her last straw. It was great that she was no longer trapped in her body, but how could she stand idly by and watch this?! She couldn't. Not when the Powers That Be owed her as royally as they did. Clearly, without some serious intervention, the end of this story would leave _a lot_ to be desired.

So, Cordelia had put up a stink—full-diva mode. She told those Powers That Don't-Give-A-Damn-But-Really- _Really_ -Should, that it was time to stop acting like Switzerland. They needed to _act._ They needed to set things right. Or, in the very least, they needed to let _her_ set things right. She'd gladly do it, if they gave her a tangible form for a few days—heck, even a few hours would be better than nothing.

And then it happened. The Powers That Be sent her an astral vision in her astral body and she knew her request had been not only heard, but _granted_.

She would be allowed one day to set things right. Only one day.

The day in question, however, was entirely her choice.

Okay... _that_ was a surprise. When she demanded a chance to make things right, she was thinking she'd be thrown into the wreck that was the present tense and the best she could do was glue some of the broken pieces back together. Like Humpty Dumpty, things would never be fixed the right way, but she could remind Angel who the enemy was, and all that had been sacrificed to fight them. Instead, she was being given a real golden ticket—a chance to choose any day from her entire lifetime and change the course of the future from that point forward.

To say she was shocked by the generosity the Powers That Be were extending toward her, would be a gross understatement. But, it was now abundantly clear that they too were quite displeased with the way things had transpired, and they had faith in her knowledge and judgment to be able to pick a single diverging point that could change everything for the better.

Her gut reaction was to choose the day when she had so stupidly accepted Skip's offer to become a Higher Being. If there was any single moment that had ruined _everything_ , it was most certainly that one. After that moment there was nothing but complete chaos and misery, not to mention her death. She wondered if that wasn't just a selfish choice on her part—saving her own life. Not to mention, she'd finally have the chance to tell Angel she loved him. As she imagined that scenario play out in her head, she felt the ache in her chest of a love that never got to be shared. They had been robbed of their chance to be together, and now she could give them a new one.

It would be so easy to accept that day as her choice. Too easy.

Cordelia forced herself to pause and think about the bigger picture. There were other things that had gone wrong prior to Skip's duplicitousness. It would be short-sighted of her to choose based solely on her heart's desire.

Perhaps, she should go back and stop Wesley from handing Connor over to Holtz. Or, and this was a conflicted thought on her part, she could stop Angel from ever sleeping with Darla in the first place. As much as she loved Connor, she had to admit—his birth had caused just as much destruction as it had happiness. Maybe more so. Or, perhaps, the best way to play it was to ensure that Wolfram & Hart never brought Darla back to life in the first place. Darla's resurrection had been the beginning of the evil law firm's endless manipulations of Angel. If Wolfram & Hart's plan had been foiled, Angel would never have gone dark, never pushed she and Wes and Gunn away. And who knew what the future would've held if that had never happened? Angel Investigations may have simply continued to help the hopeless in their claustrophobic little office space, never hearing boo about the apocalypse. Just a vampire with a soul and his friends, saving people on a nightly basis.

She made a mental note to also stop that Vocah guy from wreaking havoc on her mind, because that was no bueno…

That's when it hit her. The visions. _Doyle._

She almost felt ashamed that he hadn't been her first thought. There had been a time, when he was all she could think about. A time when all she wanted to do was go back in time and save him. And now, with years of acceptance behind her, it had taken her several minutes to remember that saving him was a realistic option.

And an enticing one at that.

Doyle's death was a significant turning point in her life, not to mention Angel's. Angel had been crushed by the loss of his closest friend and mentor. Doyle's death had inspired Angel to keep fighting the good fight, but Cordelia had always felt that Doyle's life would have been far more inspirational. In fact, Doyle's influence could have significantly changed many of the darker turning points in Angel's journey. Because, as much as Cordelia and Wesley and later Gunn, Fred and Lorne, had become important to Angel over time, they could never be what Doyle had been.

Doyle was special. He was one of a kind. And he was irreplaceable.

The truth was, the reason she hadn't readily thought back that far, was because she had been such a different person. It was the visions that had changed her over time. It was the visions and her dedication to them that had made her a champion in her own right. As much as she would love to live in a world where Doyle had never died, it scared her to think of changing something so significant about herself. Doyle's gift had changed her and without that gift, who would she be now?

She would like to think she'd have changed anyway—certainly, she had already been changing, even before Doyle had passed his calling on to her. And since it was his legacy that had changed her, perhaps his life would have had a similar impact. There was a possibility she would have ended up a similar person, if not precisely the same, just by being close to him.

That's when the image of actually _being close_ to him popped into her brain. She remembered his kiss, which had been life-altering for her in more ways than one. Goodbye kisses shouldn't be that mind-blowing. It was simply not fair.

She had been falling for him before he kissed her goodbye—and that kiss, followed all-too-closely by his death, had left her with a grave certainty that she not only _could have_ loved him, but most likely already _did_. If he had never died, how would loving him have changed her? Because, undoubtedly, it would have—she had been so closed off, hiding behind her carefully constructed walls. If he had gotten all the way through, and showed her it was safe to open up…

Again, an aching in her chest grew strong, full of all the unanswered what-ifs. But, she had to push away her selfishness in all this. She couldn't make a decision this important based on her love life—she had loved both Angel and Doyle at different times, in different ways, and she was robbed of a chance at happiness each time. She couldn't make this decision based on which of them she might have a chance to love. Nor could she make her decision based on what type of person she would eventually become. None of this was about her. It was about keeping Angel on the right path. It was about the greater good.

As much as it scared her to pick a path that would change her so drastically, she instinctively knew saving Doyle was the right choice. Not for her own sake, but for Angel's. After all, this version of herself had been there, done that—she hadn't managed to stop any of the destruction from happening the first time around. Even if she could stop one event on one specific day, what would stop the rest of it from happening again anyway? She and Angel and Wesley and Gunn and Fred and Lorne would all react like they had the first time and nothing would change in the end. No, the best way to ensure things would _actually change_ was to make sure there was someone new there to change them. And Doyle was a good man to have at Angel's side. He was a good man, period. They'd be gaining a soldier, and a guide, and a friend, and hopefully a much better future.

Cordelia made her decision. She was going to see to it that Doyle survived beyond the night on the Quintessa.

The only question left was: when best to intervene?

She would only get one chance at this. The Powers That Be had made it clear, once she chose to make her astral form tangible, it would sever the link between her body and her spirit. Her body would die and she would have a limited window before her spirit moved on to the next plane, permanently. That meant she wouldn't get any do-overs. So, she couldn't risk a plan that wouldn't be 100% effective. The most foolproof plan she could think of, would be to choose a day or two before his death and save the Lister demons herself. Assuming she would be able to do that, with little or no help from Angel, Doyle and her younger self. If she could pull it off, he would never even receive the vision that would lead to his death. It was the safest option, to be sure.

But, was it the best option? She knew that it was important for Doyle to come to terms with his own past; if she intervened too soon, she'd take that away from him and who knew if he'd ever get it back. She needed him to be there for Angel, and she needed it to be the best possible version of him. Not the self-loathing, self-destructive half-demon that was eaten away by guilt and remorse, but the kind-hearted, generous half-man who had a real knack for helping people in need. That was the Doyle she needed to save.

Thankfully, she still had a small window of opportunity to utilize her astral body, before playing her get-out-of-jail-free card. As long as her physical body still clung to life in that hospital bed, she could remain intangible, observing and planning before committing to her one day of action.

A fleeting thought of the days leading up to Doyle's death sent her spinning. Literally, the world around her was spinning so fast she probably would've been nauseous if she still had an equilibrium. When she gained control of herself, she found that she was standing in a room she hadn't seen in years. She hadn't seen it, because it no longer existed.

She was in the original Angel Investigations office and sitting before her was her younger self, tapping a disappointed finger against an empty answering machine. She heard the door open behind her and turned to see a face that made her heart stop in her astral projected chest.

Allen Francis Doyle walked through the front door, all smiling eyes and unkempt hair. His hideous shirt was wide open, revealing an off-white tank top underneath and his beat up brown leather jacket was slung over his shoulder. She couldn't imagine him looking any more Doyle-like than he did right now.

Boy, was he ever a sight for sore eyes.

"Mornin', Princess." He said cheerfully, giving her a brief glimpse of the dimple on his right cheek that she had always liked so much. It took Cordelia a moment to remember that he couldn't see her. This smile wasn't for her benefit. He was, instead, greeting her younger self who was seated at the desk behind her.

"Doyle…" Cordelia whispered out loud, wishing more than anything that she could reach out and touch him.

She couldn't do that yet, but she would soon. And once she was done, her other self would never have to know what it was like to _not_ be able to touch him again.


	2. I Will Remember You, Pt 1

**"I Will Remember You," Part I**

Cordelia had to admit, seeing Doyle again sent a warm sensation through her veins, which was impressive, considering her veins were in her body which was still occupying a hospital bed over four years in the future. And seeing the way he sneaked an appreciative view of her younger self's assets as she stood up from behind the desk, only increased said sensation.

"Gotta say. I'm lovin' this whole ensemble you've got going today." He said, eyebrows raised in appreciation of her sexy little paisley crop top and denim skirt.

Young Cordelia rolled her eyes in response. "If you say something pervy, I'm going to have to burn these clothes, and I don't really have the cash flow to replace them. So, please, Doyle… stop right there."

Cordelia admired her younger self's appearance as well—it was definitely a sexy little outfit she had thrown together that morning, with miles of bare midriff on display. Cordelia vaguely recalled choosing it entirely for Doyle's benefit. Driving him crazy had, by that time, become a sort of hobby for her. She had depended on his admiring glances to keep her confidence up in the Hollywood life that so often broke her down. And, clearly, her mission had been accomplished on this particular morning, because Doyle appeared to be having some serious trouble keeping his eyes off her exposed belly button. It was only when her younger self moved to peer through the blinds leading into Angel's office that Doyle was able to focus on something other than her.

Cordelia smiled as the deluge of memories hit her—the countless hours they had spent flirting and bantering in their very tiny office space. Well, he did most of the flirting, she did most of the bantering. Watching Doyle and her younger self was an experience akin to watching a theatrical performance from an unusually close proximity—a performance she thought she knew intimately, and yet, also felt like she didn't know at all. Certainly, it had felt very different when she was that other girl—so tumultuous and confusing. Whereas now, it all looked so simple…

She moved closer to her younger self, admiring the completely smooth complexion. _Oh, just wait a few apocalypses from now, sweetie,_ she thought. _Not to mention a few brushes with death and demonic pregnancies._ She also noted the phenomenal state of her thick, long, brown locks, hoping she'd be able to find the time to warn herself of some rather serious scissors-related disasters, of which she'd suffered many throughout the years.

The two people before her raced away into Angel's office, alerted to some danger within. Cordelia moved to their previous space, peering through the blinds as they'd been doing only moments earlier. As her eyes fell onto Angel's visage, her breath caught in her throat. Unchanged by time, she could have picked any point in her lifetime and he would've been the same on the outside, if not on the inside. This Angel wasn't her Angel, but she yearned to be near him all the same. And yet, as the small blond woman who entered through the front door caught her attention, she was reminded where this Angel's heart was firmly directed.

Buffy.

Cordelia watched as her younger self made a hasty introduction between Doyle and Buffy, before dragging him bodily from the room and closing the door behind them. It wouldn't be long now, before Angel's brooding demeanor would become significantly broodier. Further proof that despite looking like _her_ Angel, this Angel was very far from. And while his face was a welcome sight, there were other things that more readily needed her attention.

As much as she was enjoying this episode of _This Is Your Life_ ; she couldn't lose sight of her goal.

She had to go find the Listers.

She had to save Doyle's life.

* * *

Cordelia stood in the small office watching for another moment. Her younger self was collecting her purse and convincing Doyle that they would have time to go for coffee as well as the Director's Cut of _Titanic_. Cordelia knew better. They would barely make it to the front door before Buffy would be stomping back out of the office, leaving a despondent Angel in her wake.

And yet, they made it to the door, and out the door, and Buffy had still not left Angel's office.

Um… this isn't how she remembered things.

That's when it hit her. This was the day that Buffy came to see Angel... which meant, it was the day when time rewound itself. And apparently, she was getting the full, extended version of the show. How had she not realized this before? Well, of course, she didn't. The first part of the day happened the way she remembered it and the rest of it wasn't that big a deal for her younger self, and therefore, didn't hold much significance in her own memory. Buffy's visit had barely been a blip on the radar. She remembered much more vividly the retelling of the day-that-never-was by Doyle. For her, that moment was far more memorable since it was the morning of the day he died.

But right now, she was basically forced into a holding pattern. It's not like this whole time travel thing came with a remote control—although, admittedly, she tried to fast-forward just for the hell of it. When that didn't work, she realized she might as well enjoy the show. She couldn't change anything on this day or it would be reverted once Angel went to the Oracles that night. And she wasn't looking to change that particular bit of history.

So, Cordelia decided to follow them—her younger self and the man she was here to save. And she watched as they took up a window seat in a nearby café. She took the empty seat across from them, not that she needed to sit; but old habits die hard. She kind of wished she too, could order a Mocha Frappuccino, but she had to settle for watching Doyle complain about his. She laughed as he scooped away some of the whipped topping from the top of his cup, searching for the actual coffee and lamenting the fact that Americans needed to make everything bigger, frothier and sweeter. As Young Cordelia snarked back at him, it didn't seem like her heart was really into it. She was too distracted by the ongoing saga of Buffy and Angel and how that could possibly effect her. Cordelia was only half listening as her younger self told Doyle a tale she knew all too well. The story didn't interest Cordelia in the least, what did interest her was the subtext. Although her younger self was still supposedly talking about Buffy and Angel, it didn't take long before it sounded like she was talking about something else entirely.

"…I mean, exes are exes for a reason. It's a nice idea, to think you could be friends, but I don't think it ever really works out that way. When you know someone that intimately, it can't be erased. It's like taking permanent marker to the dry-erase board that is life. You start filling it up and eventually you don't have any room to draw anything new. Y'know what I mean?"

"Uh… permanent marker? Sure." Cordelia cringed as she watched Doyle's bewildered response to her younger self's confusing analogy.

"What wasn't clear about that?" Young Cordelia complained. "Is it the accent that confuses you? Do I need to talk slower?"

If Cordelia did have that proverbial remote control, she would have chosen this as a good time to utilize the mute button. She was relieved to see Doyle take her thoughtless comments in stride, despite the fact that he could most likely read the whole conversation for what it actually was—a thinly veiled lecture about the renewed relationship between he and his ex-wife. Cordelia could recall how much it had bothered her at the time, but hadn't remembered ever directly addressing the issue; or even indirectly addressing the issue, for that matter.

Cordelia tuned out the cringe-worthy words and observed the body language instead. Doyle had initially left a comfortable distance between he and her younger self, but he had instinctively moved closer when he saw that she was upset. His arm was now stretched out casually behind her shoulders, although no part of him was touching her. He didn't seem affected by the numerous insensitive words that fell from her lips, by all accounts he was used to her particular brand of brutal honesty by this point in their friendship. Instead, he stayed close and regarded her with an amused curiosity—it showed he cared about what she was saying, without caring enough to be offended. Conversely, Young Cordelia's posture had gotten increasingly more rigid the closer he got, and whenever Doyle turned his head to sip from his coffee cup she would cast a furtive glance in his direction.

Cordelia remembered what it was like to be that girl—the girl who was so terrified of feelings that she'd wage silent battles against them on a daily basis. Which made it ridiculously hard to open up to the man sitting beside her, for whom most of her feelings had been directed. It was actually pretty damn impressive that he'd managed to slip right through her armor, considering how desperate she had been to fight against that possibility. Her mantra was basically "anyone but Doyle" and yet he ended up being the only one she truly wanted. Unfortunately, he wasn't around to see the results of his accomplishment. She, however, had felt the full devastation of it; not to mention the regret that followed...

* * *

If Cordelia had enjoyed the show at the coffee shop, she enjoyed the one back at the office even more. Seeing Angel walk in from the sunlit street with an actual beating heart—she had known it happened, and yet, she could never really imagine it. Now she didn't have to imagine, she could watch him binge eat everything in the tiny office refrigerator in full Technicolor and surround sound. If Angel's antics weren't entertaining enough, she got a real kick out of how handsy her younger self was being with Doyle. She was clinging to his back as if they were about to be attacked by a wild boar, rather than simply watching their boss discover his dislike of yogurt and ask for cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip ice-cream. Cordelia could see it all for what it was—a pathetic excuse to be close to Doyle without having to put herself out there. It's not like he was complaining, of course.

As the day continued to unfold before her, she could plainly see exactly how Doyle had managed to dig so deep under her skin. He cared about her, and as a result, he was genuinely interested in what she said and did. He was there for her with a listening ear, a comforting shoulder, a mischievous grin and adoring eyes. Not to mention, the sage advice, which always seemed to take her by surprise. He had never made it a secret that he wanted to be close to her, and this missing day was no different—he spent almost every second of it by her side. She watched him sit on the small green couch in the outer office beside her younger self, hand pressed to his cheek, hanging on Young Cordelia's every word. And when she was done with another bout of rambling, he keenly observed her jealousies where Buffy was concerned. Cordelia recalled that he could always read her much better than she had given him credit for, but he never did it in a way that felt invasive. It was almost as if he could see the parts of her she was desperate to hide, but had enough sense to let her continue to wear her mask. He knew it made her feel safe.

It had probably made him feel safe, too. Because as much as he wanted her to open up to him, he still refused to do the same with her. He was still hiding behind a mask of his own—a mask he had to create to survive the broken dreams and self-hatred. Underneath all that was probably one of the most caring souls Cordelia had ever known. It was no wonder he had eventually worn her down.

She tuned back in to hear what he was saying to Young Cordelia as he grabbed his brown leather jacket off the back of a chair. "I'm thinking a day like today calls for a margarita or multiple margaritas, in fact. On me, this time."

"I highly doubt anything will be 'on you' aside from the drool that'll end up on your shirt after you pass out." Young Cordelia huffed. Despite her big show of rolling her eyes, she grabbed her own jacket and followed him toward the door. "It's not actually legal for me to drink a margarita in this country, y'know. They don't make exceptions for days when your vampire boss becomes human and you suddenly find yourself unemployed."

Doyle waited by the front door as she made her way over to his side, an amused grin played at the edge of his lips. "I know quite a few places that won't care how old ya are, love."

"The question is, would I be caught dead in any of those places? No, wait. Better question, would I _end up_ dead in any of those places?" She snarked.

"Not with me there to protect ya." He assured her, holding the door open patiently.

She exited and tossed a final comment over shoulder. "We'll just go somewhere I like and I'll have a virgin."

"Ah… I'm not touching that one." He replied, following her out the door and locking up behind him.


	3. I Will Remember You, Pt 2

**"I Will Remember You," Part II**

Cordelia wouldn't mind the Powers That Be sending her an astral margarita right about now.

As she leaned across the bar from Doyle and her younger self, she wished she could go back to the office and spend some time with Angel. Unfortunately, this day being what it was, she couldn't do that without having to then cleanse her eyeballs with bleach. She really wasn't interested in a triple X feature of the Buffy and Angel show. But she had to admit, the longer she spent watching her younger self with Doyle, the more she wished she'd get something a little less G-rated. It was like watching a romantic comedy that never got to the good part. _Just make out already, will you?!_ She knew that wasn't going to happen, but any casual observer of the couple could see there was something between them and the fact that they never did anything about it—ugh, frustrating, to say the least.

Cordelia tapped her fingers absently, waiting for the moment she knew would be coming any minute. 3…2…1… Doyle's head slammed down against the bar, signaling the rapidly approaching end of Angel's best day ever. She noted the concern in Young Cordelia's eyes, and the way she helped steady Doyle on his barstool. As he gingerly removed his throbbing head from the surface of the bar, her younger self reached out to help him stand, allowing him to lean on her so they could get moving faster. Cordelia was relieved to see that she was capable of being kind to him; sadly, it wasn't something she recalled doing nearly often enough.

After following them back to the office, she opted to stay with her younger self rather than watching Doyle and Angel get their asses kicked by the supersized Mohra demon. If you've seen one demon battle, you've seen 'em all, and she'd seen more than enough over the years.

Young Cordelia was a bundle of nervous energy—first, sticking post-its everywhere, then blaming Buffy for pretty much everything that had ever happened before sending her off to help the boys, and finally pacing like a caged—and highly caffeinated—tiger. Cordelia, having never experienced the moment for herself, could only guess what the younger her was thinking and feeling. Clearly, she was worried, and Cordelia doubted it had much to do with her pending job loss. Sure, she had always valued her role at Angel Investigations and it had become much more than a job along the way, but back then, it _was_ just a job. And not one she expected to be doing for years to come. Young Cordelia had been disappointed most of the day, but now her nerves appeared to be quickly unraveling. This girl was no longer concerned about losing her job, she was concerned about losing her friends. She was afraid she would be left alone.

Which certainly explained what happened next.

Cordelia honestly hadn't known what to expect from _the-day-that-never-was_. A small part of her had always wondered if Angel hadn't been entirely honest about the course of events—perhaps, Doyle or Buffy or both had been killed by the Mohra demon? It had been a distinct possibility in her mind. Up until the point when Doyle stumbled in the front door of the office, battered, bruised and utterly exhausted. Her younger self, who had finally ceased her pacing, flew across the room to throw her arms around him in relief. "Oh, thank God, you're okay!"

This was certainly unexpected. And if Cordelia was surprised by her younger self's show of emotion, you can bet Doyle was every bit as surprised. He stumbled a bit as she landed against him, but caught himself and reflexively lifted his arms to return the embrace. A brief grimace crossed his face, probably from the physical contact against his bruises, but it swiftly turned into a flattered grin. "Whoa, Princess. Not so rough." He chuckled. "These old bones have seen better nights, that's for sure. Good thing Buffy came along when she did."

Young Cordelia leaned back to meet his eyes, but still held him tightly, even as she admonished him for the evening's activities. "That was majorly stupid, Doyle. You and Angel should've never gone after that thing by yourselves. You could've been killed!" She seemed to second-guess her choice of phrasing. "Both of you."

He stared down at her curiously, probably noting that her hands were still gripping his shoulders tightly and didn't appear to be letting go anytime soon. He was visibly touched by her concern, but the longer the moment extended, the loaded gaze between them changed to something a lot less _concerned_. What could have easily turned awkward, instead slowly increased the temperature in the room. He cleared his throat, searching for his voice. It came out strained. "Ah… what ya doin', Princess?"

Her wide eyes were locked to his, and her breathing quickened. "I don't know." She admitted, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears.

"If ya don't let go soon, it'll be your fault when I kiss ya." Doyle joked, but clearly he was speaking the truth.

"Okay." She answered, biting her lip nervously and still making no move to let go.

About a dozen different puzzled expressions crossed Doyle's face before he landed on something halfway between disbelief and elation. "Yeah?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"You'd better stop stalling before I come to my senses." She replied, an edge of warning in her voice, but the nerves were still audible.

He looked a little unsure of himself at first, but then made his decision. If she wanted him to go for it, he was going for it. He pulled her close and slid his hand up to land in her hair as his lips eclipsed hers in what can only be described as a scorching kiss.

Cordelia stood beside the couple, jaw firmly plastered on the floor. _What the bleeding hell?!_

As her younger self returned Doyle's kiss eagerly, tightening her grip around his shoulders, it was clear that their apprehension had burned away in the ensuing fireworks.

This had never happened! Except, it had happened and then it had been taken away, just like everything else on this day. Her heart broke just a little, imagining where things could have gone from here. But knowing what Angel had willingly given up, she couldn't dwell too hard on her own minor loss. Even so, she was proud of herself for taking the chance; and judging by the fact that neither one of them seemed interested in breathing anytime soon, her chance would have paid off big time if this day hadn't been swallowed up.

"Impressive technique." Cordelia noted, thinking that if this were a movie, the two of them could definitely win some kind of onscreen chemistry award.

There was some solace in knowing that had this day not rewound, Doyle's fate wouldn't have been any better. Sure, they'd have had this moment, this kiss, but they weren't likely to live happily ever after. Doyle still would have received the vision of the Scourge and he probably would have been killed anyway. In fact, as the only one of them with any superhuman strength and endurance, Doyle being the Listers' savior would have been a foregone conclusion—as a human Angel wouldn't have stood a chance. They may have never even made it to the Quintessa; they may have all ended up dead before ever stepping foot on that ship.

But, still…. It was a hell of a kiss.

Cordelia smiled to herself as she watched Doyle and her younger self slowly break apart, both clearly intoxicated by each other's kiss. They wouldn't be allowed to keep this moment, but she was more positive than ever that they would have another one like it, if given the chance.

"Wow." Young Cordelia breathed, allowing a wide smile to consume her recently kissed lips.

"Yeah." He agreed, grinning back down at her in answer. "Does that mean you'll be letting me kiss ya again?"

"No." She replied quickly, causing Doyle's smile to fall. "You'll have to take me out on a date to get a second kiss. Deal?"

The grin returned, maybe even wider than it had been initially. "Sounds more than fair." They both looked equally pleased with their little arrangement, before a flicker of reservation crossed his face. "Actually, Cordy… Before I ask ya out all official-like, there's something I should probably to tell ya…"

Young Cordelia had already stepped away from him, grabbing her purse, which had been thrown carelessly on the green couch. "Can it wait 'til tomorrow?" She asked over her shoulder. "It's been the longest day ever and I'm absolutely beat."

He doesn't look entirely thrilled by the delay in getting his big secret off his chest, but he was nothing if not agreeable. "O'course. Tomorrow, then." He held his arm out to her in a gentlemanly fashion. "For now, let me walk ya down to your car. Make sure we get that tomorrow, yeah?"

She took his arm and beamed up at him as they started to exit together.

Instantly, it was daytime again. Cordelia stood in the exact same place in the office as she had when it was night, but Doyle and the young version of herself were now on the opposite end of the room, collecting their belongings as they planned to go out for coffee. The day had been reset. The moment lost in the folds of time.

And her resolve to gain them more moments in the future, had grown stronger than ever.


	4. Tomorrow is Today

**"Tomorrow is Today"**

Cordelia was already familiar with the second version of the day, therefore, she opted to do her due diligence rather than relive the past. First, she located the Listers who had not yet been alerted to the Scourge's presence. That was easy enough, since they were exactly where they were the first time. The much more difficult task was how she would convince these demons to trust her and flee their home without any proof of danger. Not to mention, that she wouldn't be able to use Angel's influence to get the Quintessa to take the demons—in fact, a visit to the docks soon told her an even more disheartening truth—the Quintessa hadn't even arrived yet. Even if she recruited the past version of Angel and the only version of Doyle to assist her, which was what she had hoped to do, the resources they needed wouldn't be in place. There was always a chance Angel would know another ship's captain, or with the extra time they could find another means of transportation for the demon clan. Of course, the whole point of saving the Listers early was so she _wouldn't_ have to take any chances. If there was a chance her plan would fail, then she couldn't risk it. And as far as she could see, there were far too many ifs.

She would just have to wait until all the pieces were in place and then hope that she wouldn't screw it up.

That evening, she checked back into the Angel Investigations office in time to see her younger self and Doyle locking up the office just as they had on most nights, including the one that had been wiped from existence.

"He'd better not spend all day tomorrow down in that cave of his. Y'know, contrary to popular belief, vampires don't _actually_ turn into bats." Young Cordelia whined as she fumbled with her key ring. Doyle waited patiently nearby, hands in his pockets.

"I'm sure he'll come around, Princess. Just give him time." Doyle's eyes twinkled teasingly. "And hey, if he doesn't, we'll get another day of quality time, just the two of us."

"Like Grade-D beef quality." She bit back in return, finally locking the door and jamming her keys back in her purse. "Which is what we're all going to be eating if we don't make some money in the near future!"

"I guess that means ya won't be taking me up on that offer of an after-work margarita?" He asked, and while he still seemed to be playing their usual bantering game, Cordelia could see there was some hopefulness mixed in with his otherwise casual demeanor.

"I have better things to do than watch you slowly dissolve your liver, Doyle." Young Cordelia sighed, heading toward the elevator. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Doyle watched her go and Cordelia could see that his sense of humor washed away with her younger self's absence. Left alone in the empty hallway, he appeared every bit as miserable as the brooding vampire several floors below. Cordelia's heart lurched, wishing she could throttle her younger self for being so blind and insensitive. Especially, since she knew for a fact that she had nothing to do aside from go home and watch reruns of the _Real World_ while she ate a lousy TV dinner.

Cordelia had very little interest in following herself. And watching Angel brood alone in the dark wasn't entirely appealing. Following Doyle seemed the only option that would provide any insight or entertainment, assuming he wasn't merely headed back to his apartment to do his own version of brooding.

He didn't disappoint, at least, not entirely. He did appear to be brooding, but he didn't go back to his apartment to do so. Instead he went to a too-brightly-lit dive bar where he appeared to know all the regulars. The bartender reminded Doyle about his preexisting tab, but wasn't deterred from inflating it further by serving him a drink. Cordelia noted the nod the bartender gave him—directing his eyes to a group of beefy guys who were milling about the pool table, looking out-of-place and of questionable age. Doyle observed them for a bit, before approaching.

Doyle was a charmer, no doubt about that. All he had to do was play up the drunken Irishman charade and the group of guys was practically throwing money at him. It wasn't long before Doyle had hustled them out of a couple hundred dollars, which allowed him to pay his bar tab before he left. No wonder the bartender had served him. He seemed pleased by the night's success, until he exited into the parking lot where the guys he'd just hustled were waiting to beat the crap out of him. He didn't miss a beat, disappearing down a nearby alley before the guys even had a chance to spot him. Cordelia shook her head as she followed closely on his heels; he knew the dark alley well, which illustrated that this was not an uncommon occurrence for him. While it didn't necessarily surprise her, she wasn't terribly thrilled by his choice of lifestyle.

His next stop was, yet another bar, but this one was hidden. If she hadn't followed Doyle to the door, she would've never known it was there at all. The interior was darker and smokier and much more crowded than the previous location. Cordelia quickly noted that the majority of the patrons of this bar were not human; and if she had to guess, even the ones who appeared human probably weren't entirely so. Doyle made a beeline for some hoochie at the back of the bar, which was definitely a development Cordelia did not like. Thankfully, his purpose in seeking her out was so she could tell him who else was there tonight. He specifically asked about a few guys with very suspicious-sounding names. Cordelia knew enough to assume he owed those guys money. Once he confirmed that none of the probable-loan-sharks were present, he visibly relaxed, slinking onto an empty barstool in the corner. Cordelia settled onto the empty stool beside him, watching as he signaled the bartender for a drink and bummed a smoke from a large, slimey demon standing nearby who appeared to be an acquaintance.

"How's it hanging, Mo?" He asked the imposing demon, casually wiping away the slime from the cigarette he'd been handed. Slimey-guy gurgled back something that couldn't possibly have been in English, but Doyle nodded as if he completely understood. "Yeah, woman troubles. I hear ya, mate. Got some of those me self."

As Mo slid away like the giant slug that he was, Doyle sat quietly, staring into his drink and smoking his now de-slimed cigarette. Cordelia couldn't tell what was on his mind, but there was clearly something weighing heavily. His expressive green eyes, which were truly windows to his soul, were clouded over with a layer of melancholy. She wondered how much of it, if any, had to do with her; desperately trying to rack her brain for any particularly brutal things she may have hurled at him on that particular day. Of course, his sadness may not have been about her at all. Perhaps, Angel's brush with Buffy had only served to increase Doyle's own feelings where his ex-wife was concerned. Or, perhaps, this was just the true Doyle—the one she never really saw. The one who mourned the "normal life" he'd lost and was afraid to try and rebuild a new one for himself. Because how could he ever find love and happiness, when he hated who and what he was? The devil-may-care attitude he wore was as much a mask for him as her superficial, ditzy act. Maybe even more so.

Cordelia had almost forgotten that she wasn't really sitting beside him. Her desire to reach out and comfort him was overwhelming, which is why she did exactly that. Instead of her hand landing on his shoulder, it went through it. But, a strange thing happened at that moment. He looked over at her—and it really seemed like he was looking _at_ her. Not through her or behind her, but right at her. She swore she could see curiosity swimming around in his gaze, which only solidified her belief that he somehow knew she was there. She stared back, feeling her pulse quicken. Even if he couldn't see her, she was certainly enjoying the view. No one had eyes like Doyle.

He was still staring at what was supposedly an empty barstool, but he finally dropped his eyes to his lap, shaking his head and laughing to himself. He then lifted a hand to his eyes, rubbing gently. "Must be losing it." He mumbled to himself, before lifting his drink, finishing it off and signaling the bartender for another round.

He had sensed her. She wasn't sure how or why, but he had. And as she continued to watch him drown his pain at the bottom of a bottle, she decided that it was all for the best that she wasn't going to save the Listers on her own. He needed to save them. It was the only way he had a hope of healing.

If she was going to save him, then she had to save him the right way.


	5. Hero Redux

**"Hero Redux"**

Today was the day. Today Cordelia would change the course of the future as she had known it.

She was anxious to get the show on the road, but since she'd been forced to wait this long, she might as well let the earlier portion of the day play out as it was meant to. That meant spending the morning watching herself torment Doyle and force him to film that terrible commercial—she almost wondered if maybe she shouldn't have intervened sooner; in the very least, she could have stopped her younger self from calling him a weasel. Geez! No wonder the guy never had the nerve to ask her out.

As was Doyle's way, he had put up with all of it, simply to appease her. And then he'd gone down to talk some possible cheer into Angel—again, for her sake more than anything else. Upon hearing the conversation that took place between the two best friends, Cordelia understood with greater clarity than ever before, exactly what had inspired Doyle to be a hero later that night. He had been inspired by Angel's own sacrifice. And so, when Doyle had been tested, he'd found that he had the strength to do what was right. It was the exact reason Cordelia needed to save him. Because having two "real deals" in the hero department was far better than having only one. Especially, when they each gave the other strength.

As Cordelia gazed upon the two men she had loved during the course of her adult life, she yearned to reveal herself to them. She wanted to tell them both how much they had meant to her. How much each of them had made an indelible mark on her soul. She could have done exactly that, but what purpose would it have served? When all this was over, she would be no more. Her younger self would be on an entirely new and undetermined path. A path that seemed likely to include the love of one of these men, but most likely not both. She couldn't say she was sorry for that. She wanted the brightest possible future for that other girl—the girl she used to be. If she had to choose one of these two men for _that_ girl, it wouldn't be a choice at all. It'd be the one who already loved her just as she was and would hopefully love whoever she became. The one who had taught her she was capable of love in the first place.

It was Doyle. It was always meant to be Doyle.

That wasn't to say, Cordelia didn't love Angel. She did, more than ever. It was a love that had grown over time. A shared loss had bonded them, a shared mission brought them closer and their friendship had evolved into love. And to her, the Cordelia who had experienced all that loss and suffering, the Cordelia who had sacrificed her body and her mind for the greater good, for that Cordelia, Angel made sense. And _that_ Cordelia would always love him. But take all that away…

The Cordelia she had been, had loved Doyle without even trying. In fact, she had loved Doyle while actively trying not to. It was chemical. Instinctual. It was inevitable. And the main ingredient that had changed her from the Cordelia-who-loved-Doyle to the Cordelia-who-loved-Angel was Doyle's death. Had Doyle never been subtracted from the equation, the result would have been much different.

So, it was with complete acceptance and anticipation that Cordelia followed Doyle back upstairs and watched him relay to her younger self the true reason for Angel's excessively broody mood. And in that moment—the two of them sitting on the stairs, drinking their coffee, hands brushing accidentally causing them both to take notice of the electricity between them—she could see their new future so clearly. They were on the precipice of something that could heal them both. Redemption. Love. Happiness.

From her objective vantage point, Cordelia could see that Doyle had been ready to put himself out there—he was about to take off his mask and tell her the truth about the half-man underneath. And she could see her own behavior for what it was—she wanted him. Undeniably.

Cordelia recalled what it felt like to sit there, hoping that when Doyle said he wanted to get on with his life and have a lasting relationship that he was referring to a relationship with her. She had been waiting for him to ask her out. Expecting it. Anticipating an acceptance of the offer she hoped was imminent.

Then his final vision hit. The vision that took this moment away from them. The vision that took him away completely.

She found that she resented it as much now as she had then, although back then, she had mistakenly assumed they'd have time to continue their conversation later.

They didn't the first time, but this time she'd make sure they would.

* * *

Cordelia realized that she would have to take a big risk to reap the biggest reward.

The risk was waiting. The reward was letting each of them gain all that they could from the original events of the day. Letting her younger self find out Doyle's secret and decide that it didn't matter, that she could love him anyway. Letting Doyle find his path to redemption and deciding to take it, discovering a strength he didn't know he possessed. Letting Angel not be the hero on that particular day, learning he had a friend who would do anything to ensure he kept fighting.

It meant she'd be doing things the hard way, but they'd all be better for it in the long run.

So, she left them to their own devices, and waited in the shadows as they discovered the Listers hidden below the slum they were living in. She let them plot and plan and do all the things that would lead them all to the bowels of the Quintessa.

Finally, she signaled to the Powers That Be—she had made her choice. She was choosing her one day to set things straight. In fact, she was choosing much less than a day—she was choosing barely an hour. Such a small window of time would change so much, she was sure of it.

Cordelia felt her astral form become solid, rooting her to the earth and ripping her from the tether of her body. It was disorienting for a moment, to be physical once again, but she felt good. Strong. Ready to do what needed to be done. And, she looked pretty rocking for a nearly-dead vegetable, if she said so herself.

She peered around the edge of the crates she was hiding behind and could see her younger self pacing up and down the empty dock nearby. Young Cordelia was worrying over Doyle's late arrival and what it could potentially mean. She was alone.

Now was Cordelia's chance. Sneaking out from behind the stacked crates, she crept up behind her younger self and belted her in the head with her elbow. It wasn't the kindest way to take her out of the equation, and she winced as she saw the nasty bump she left on the younger girl's temple, but she was certain it wouldn't do any lasting damage. She dragged Young Cordelia away from the dock and hid her behind the stack of crates, cutting a length of fishing net to bind and gag the girl. "I'm really sorry about this." She said to herself. "But, trust me, you'll be gaining a lot more than you're losing."

Taking the place of Young Cordelia alone on the pier, she realized all too late that her astral body looked nothing like her younger body—different hair, different clothes. She tried using the power of her will to appear as her younger self, but it worked as well as her previous attempts to fast forward and rewind. Nothing happened. She cursed herself for not practicing this earlier. Now she was stuck and would just have to hope her altered appearance didn't cause too big of a stir.

Rieff's father came up beside her, giving her a strange look. "Who are you?" He asked, not unkindly.

"What do you mean?" She asked, feigning ignorance. "I'm Cordelia. I work with Angel and Doyle. I'm the one who booked you this all-expenses-paid cruise to the lovely island of Briole."

He looked at her curiously. "I was watching. I saw you take her place."

"Oh." She said with a sigh. _Busted._ She hoped she looked sincere and trustworthy otherwise things were about to get very interesting. "Please don't tell anyone. I'm here to help. That's all you need to know."

He stared at her for another moment a mix of wonder passing over his features. "I thought that might be the case." He paused and then breathed his next words in amazement. "The Promised One."

"Sure, why not?" She answered, accepting the label that had once been Doyle's and now was going to be hers this time around. "The Promised One. That's me, alright. And I'm going to make sure you all get out of here in one piece. Every single one of you."

She saw the relief register across his face, and then his focus was diverted by the ship's Captain coming up behind them. "We have to go." The Captain insisted. "We can't delay any longer."

Cordelia turned back toward the other end of the dock where she could just make out the two approaching figures emerging from the darkness. "Someone's coming." She said, easily recalling her lines from the first time.

As Doyle and Rieff came closer she could already see that Doyle looked a little confused by her change in appearance. Rieff's father chastised the boy, thanked Doyle and gave Cordelia a silent nod of approval before taking the boy inside with the others.

"What's all this?" Doyle asked, pointing to her curled hair and more stylish blouse and jeans. "Ya look… _amazin'."_ Her heart swelled at his compliment and the appreciative glance that accompanied it. Despite the circumstances, he made her feel good about herself, just as he always did. "But, was it really necessary to get all dolled up for this? It's not a real cruise ship, y'know?"

"Had to sweet talk the captain, didn't I?" She shrugged, playing it off as no big deal and hoping he wouldn't turn it into one. "Nevermind that… " She said changing her demeanor, giving him a look that felt similar to the one she'd given him during her first time living of these events. "You're alive."

As she said those words, her voice wavered a bit, her emotions getting the best of her. After all, that hadn't always been the case for her, and now that she herself was solid, standing before his living and breathing form was quite a rush for her.

"And you're not happy?" He asked.

"We were worried." She replied, trying to gain control of herself. She was still worried. Worried she wasn't doing this right. Worried her plan would fail and he'd end up dead anyway. And so would she, in a hospital bed four years from now.

"Oh, well, it's all going to be okay now." He replied reassuringly, and she reflexively smacked him. Not because she wanted to, but because it's what her younger self would have done. "What was that for?" He asked, raising his hand to his cheek, stunned by her sudden aggression.

"Why didn't you tell me you were half demon?!" She yelled, channeling her younger self's disappointment over him having so little faith in her. "I thought we agreed that secrets are bad?!"

"I wanted to tell you. I was afraid. I thought if I did, you'd reject me." His words tore at her heart. She could understand why he would've thought that of her. In truth, she would've rejected most demons or half-demons on principle alone. Still, he had been wrong when it came to her feelings for him. He was important enough to her to make the rest of it inconsequential.

"I've rejected you way before now." She forced herself to stick to the script, but this time she said the line with less anger, and more humor evident in her voice. "So, you're half demon. Big Whoop! I can't believe you'd think I'd care about that. I mean, I work for a vampire! Hello?"

"It's true. I just..." He shuffled uncomfortably.

She felt it necessary to reenact this moment exactly as it had played the first time. It would mean nothing to her younger self, who wasn't present to experience it and may never experience it exactly like this. But, she hoped it would mean something to Doyle. She hoped it would give him the courage to pursue her younger self, even if she pulled away once the adrenaline of the evening had passed her by.

"What do you think I am, superficial?" Cordelia almost snorted to herself as she repeated that line, and she noted the passing look on his face that made it clear that was, in fact, exactly what he thought, although he had enough sense not to say it out loud. "So you're half demon. That's so far down the list, way under 'short' and 'poor.'" She could barely contain the smile that was already forming on her lips. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"The half demon thing is pretty much my big secret." He replied, and Cordelia could already see the weight lifting from his shoulders as she accepted him for what he was. Even before he heard the rest…

"Good. That's out. It's done." She confirmed, finally unleashing the smile she had been trying to hide as she played her predestined part. "Would you ask me out to dinner already?"

She enjoyed watching the stunned expression that slowly edged toward joy as he processed her meaning. In her original timeline, this may have been his final moment of pure happiness. "Yeah?" He asked, eyes shining with incredulity. She beamed her reply, and he shifted his weight. "Cordelia..."

He had never been able to finish that sentence the first time around, and this time he had barely started it when Angel's motorcycle drowned out his voice and screeched to a halt nearby, causing Doyle's words to die on his lips. Cordelia swallowed hard, trying not to let her nerves cause her to lose focus. Even so, as every beat continued forward, identical to her original timeline, the more and more she second-guessed her decision to take this big a risk.

* * *

Angel ordered them inside the Quintessa and, as before, the Scourge arrived and all hell broke loose. They were trapped. Helpless. The doomsday device known as the Beacon lit the interior of the dank and dusty cargo bay. Cordelia's stomach lurched at the sight of it. If it had scared her the first time, it now nearly paralyzed her with fear. It didn't matter that she was not real flesh and blood and that, in fact, she was already dead, regardless of what happened inside this ship. The Beacon was symbolic of the day her life changed forever. The day she would learn what loss could feel like—how deeply it could wound.

A wound so deep, it could never really heal.

As the Beacon glowed brightly before her, she sensed that this was the way it was meant to be all along. She had dilly-dallied with the choice she had and the moment she would choose, but it was always going to be this. It was always going to be him. She had to lose Doyle and live with his loss in order to come back and save him. Now she was here, and she knew with the utmost certainty, that she was always meant to be The Promised One.

She believed it, and with that belief came a boost of confidence.

She tore her eyes from the ominous light in time to see Doyle bidding Angel goodbye. He had already made his decision, she knew. As she watched him take the vampire by surprise, sending Angel plummeting to the bottom of the boat, several levels below, she braced herself for what would inevitably come next.

Her big moment.

Doyle turned to her and she saw that familiar glint in his eyes that was all business, not a single hesitation to be detected. He approached her swiftly like an animal staking its claim. And the feeling of his lips meeting hers was no less mind-blowing than it had been the first time.

Except this time, she was ready for it. This time, she kissed him back. She felt the now familiar sensation of the visions being transferred. A torch was being passed. But, this time, it was not him passing the torch to her; it was her passing the torch to him.

She gave him her visions. Visions of the future. Visions of what needed to change. She trusted that he'd understand and that he'd guide the others.

The kiss lasted longer than it had the first time. Perhaps, because she was a much more willing participant this time, clinging to him as she felt the last remnants of energy pass between them. When she pulled back, it was his jaw that dropped open in shock and it was hers that was filled with a calm acceptance of what would happen next. Even so, he stumbled back a few steps, shaking off the confusion and preparing to morph into his demon form.

That's when it hit.

He dropped to his knees as her parting gift slammed through the synapses of his brain. She hated seeing him in so much agony of her own making, but it was far better than the alternative. Both of his hands were brought up to cover his eyes, as if he were trying to keep them from being pushed out of his head. An agonizing groan escaped his lips as, even through the pain, he struggled to get back to his feet. He wanted to finish what he had started, but the intensity of the vision knocked him back down to his hands and knees.

Her time was short. Angel was racing back up the stairs, screaming Doyle's name. "I'm not her." Cordelia said to the crumpled man before her, knowing it was unlikely he'd hear her through the cacaphony of his vision. "I'm not your Cordy."

With that, she turned toward the Beacon and took a running leap off the platform, utilizing her demon-levitation powers to ensure she made it all the way across. Once there, she felt a suddenly intense pain overtake her—it was shocking to say the least. She hadn't known what to expect, but had hoped her astral form wouldn't feel pain the way a human body would. Apparently, she was wrong about that. It occurred to her that the Powers That Be wanted her to feel this pain, to make sure her sacrifice was exactly that. A painless death was far too easy, after all.

The Powers That Be could be real bastards.

Her hands wrapped around the thick cables, and she felt herself being torn apart the way she had once watched Doyle be torn apart. It was every bit as agonizing as it had looked from a distance. She could vaguely hear the sound of voices screaming her name. She couldn't turn to look, even if she had wanted to. All her astral energy was focused on those cables, yanking with all her might. It was much harder to pull them apart than she could have imagined, but she used everything she had—failure was not an option. Thinking of the two men behind her on the platform, gave her a final surge of strength. This was for both of them. This was for her younger self. This was for the good fight.

She felt the cables come apart as she took her final breath.

"You're welcome…"

* * *

 **A/N-** Thanks for reading! That's the end for this one. I felt this story should end with our heroine's sacrifice. It will be continued from this point in **Another Hero: Season 1** and will continue through the end of the first season. The new story should be up in a few days, so keep your eyes peeled. Or feel free to imagine your own scenarios from here. The Doyle-filled world is your oyster. ;)


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